


Born on the Eleventh Hour

by CureMoose



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6879751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CureMoose/pseuds/CureMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something led her to save Kyouko from the grasp of Oktavia, a feeling that Homura can't name, yet seems so familiar to her. She wants to remember, but only Kyouko's help can guide her to the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Labyrinths

The clouds hid the moon and stars from Homura's eyes, but the smothering stillness of the world around her made it clear enough that noon was still a distant light, that it was still the darkest hours of the evening, that she still drowned in the night. For once she was not alone: Kyouko limped by her side, leaning against her with a heavy arm. Only when they passed beneath a streetlight could Homura even recognize her face, see how her eye was swollen, her nose broken, her cheek torn open, still bleeding, even now. Her thick hair fell in disheveled strands, burnt, still smelling of smoke. Kyouko was so near her that Homura could feel her weakened heartbeats, flimsy and slowing down as if nearing a close. She felt her breathing, her pained exhalation and the thin cloud it made in the cold air.

Time and time again, Homura had seen Kyouko at her lowest, dead or dying, yet she had never looked frail. It was such a sad sight that it made her wonder if, perhaps, dying with Sayaka would not have been merciful. That had been her fate again and again, anyways. When Homura asked herself why she had saved Kyouko this time, no answer came. Not knowing the reason made her feel sick, as if she were only playing with Kyouko's fate out of curiosity, just to see what might happen. _No_ , she shook her head, _that's not it_.

She was growing tired, too, in need of repose. She could find nowhere to rest, however. At night, even Mitakihara seemed hostile, uninviting, cold. The streets were empty but for parked cars, and all doors and windows were locked shut. Homura was used to the night, but its solitude always made her feel uneasy, wrong. Shrouded in shadow, the buildings around seemed to loom far above her, unnervingly oversized. Her own home was far, too far for her to reach quickly while also helping Kyouko with each step. But even the notion of leaving her behind made her feel disgusting, so she wrapped her arm tightly around Kyouko, and guided her patiently.

A more pleasant light caught Homura's attention, and she followed it. She did not often visit this area of Mitakihara, so it took her a moment to recall that there was a park nearby. A small one, too close to busy streets to be a place fit for relaxation in the day, but in the middle of the night, it seemed peaceful enough.

The smell of trees and fresh grass caught her unawares; this was nature almost unblemished, not like the fake forests of short trees planted around school. Homura could scarcely remember when was the last time she had been in a place that wasn't a city street, a building, a witch's barrier. How long…? A decade, at least, or maybe even more. Thinking of how much time she had been trapped in this labyrinth of her making knotted her stomach and nearly made her retch where she stood.

It had been too long, and that was enough.

She pointed at a small stone bench next to a rosebush, and though Kyouko nodded, it didn't seem to Homura that she was really paying attention to what was around her. Homura and Madoka had managed to stop most of her bleeding before they parted ways, but Kyouko was still in a poor state. Still, with guidance, she managed to sit down, spreading her legs and taking up most of the bench, leaving Homura to gingerly sit next to her, on the little space left.

Homura took slow breaths, trying to ease off, but at this point, she found that leisure had become anathema to her. Kyouko wasn't saying anything, either, and her silence was so strange, so uncomfortable. Homura wished she had a candy or something to offer her, if only to make things less awkward. She sighed and meant to get up and leave, but as she started to rise, she realized that Kyouko's hand was grasping at her, shaking. She looked at her face again, and saw that she wept. It was hard to notice without any lights nearby, but it was a hideous sobbing, her nose running, her face contorted and swollen. Worst of all, she didn't make a sound as she cried. This was wrong. Homura didn't let go of Kyouko's hand, but she couldn't say anything, either; she could not possibly offer any comfort that meant anything. So she just stood there.

"This," Kyouko said, gulping and choking on her own words as she tried to speak, "this doesn't… Doesn't mean anything to you, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what you are," said Kyouko. It did not surprise Homura. She had figured it out many times before, when she managed to live long enough to do so. Homura only nodded in confirmation. "You always know everything. Always know where people will be, and what they will do, and when. How many times have you been through this?"

"Many," she said, her voice a whisper.

"That's why you didn't want to do this, then. If I had understood this sooner, then I…" She shuddered, and put her free hand on her own wounded leg. "No, I think I would have tried it anyways," she gazed at Homura, looking for an answer.

"You would have," she agreed.

"You saved me," said Kyouko, "me and Madoka. Do you always do that?"

"Only Madoka, usually," Homura answered, and saw something akin to pain in Kyouko's face, but did not understand why that hurt. "You usually choose to die with Sayaka. Sometimes you misjudge her strength and get killed. Very rarely I can intervene in time, before you throw away your life."

Kyouko's grip tightened, painfully so.

"That's _not_ throwing it away," she grit her teeth so hard Homura could hear the sound. "My death is not a waste if I can try and help Sayaka not be lonely for a moment."

"You are not helping her," Homura said softly. "You cannot help a witch. And you are more useful living, Kyouko."

"Why? So I can turn into a witch too?"

"Kyouko," Homura got up, and looked down on her. Seeing that sort of self-pity come from Kyouko of all people nearly drove her to anger. "Your life has value. And there are people who need you."

"No one needs me."

" _I_ need you, Kyouko," she leaned to stare into her eyes. "I know what's coming. Walpurgisnacht is coming, and with her comes perdition. You have heard of her."

"I-"

"It wasn't a question. I know you've heard. And I know you never took the stories seriously until just now that I told you she is real. But she will be here before the week comes to its end. There will be no signs heralding her, no way to gather the magical girls of other cities. I've tried, long ago. If you are not by my side, Kyouko, I will have to fight on my own. And I cannot win alone."

"If you ask Madoka-"

"Then _he_ wins," she said, and was suddenly reminded that the darkness around was so thick that Kyubey could easily be in hiding nearby. It didn't matter, she figured. He always understood what she was, too, before the end. "Please, Kyouko," she took her hand again, this time out of her own volition. Her fingers were rough, hurt, but Homura felt peaceful. Kyouko didn't let go, either, and with her other hand she wiped her tearful face.

"You'll have to be honest with me," she said. "Really honest. You're always hiding everything, always being cryptic… Like you don't want to tell us the truth."

"Every time I told you the truth," Homura explained, and already she remembered how it hurt, "you have hated me for it. You called me liar, drove me out. You, Sayaka, Madoka, Mami… Mami most of all…" She would not cry. She paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "That is why I'm never honest. Honesty never did me any good."

"You seem to be pretty honest right now," Kyouko got up, her legs trembling, and had to hold on to Homura again.

"I am. And I have no way of knowing if it'll do me any good."

"So that means you have never done this before? Asking me for help like this?" She asked, and Homura nodded. "Why are you doing it now?"

"I don't know," she admitted. She smiled at her own foolishness, and remembered how smiles made things feel less uncomfortable. "When you were fighting Sayaka, and you were on the ground, bleeding… I felt like I could not let that happen. When I saw your face, so hurt, and I saw the tears coming out, how you were trying to say something but couldn't, because you were choking, because it hurt to speak, because you were spitting out your teeth," Kyouko opened her mouth, shocked, and put a finger inside to check, but Homura just continued, "and I saw you trying to get up, but you couldn't even hold your spear upright… I don't know."

"You do know," Kyouko remarked. "Honesty, I asked."

Homura sighed again. Instinct nearly drove her to let go of Kyouko's grasp and reach for her shield so that she could avoid this entire conversation. She restrained herself, this time.

"When I saw you that way, it felt to me that if I didn't act, if I let you keep fighting, I would lose something that was important to me," Kyouko let out a chuckle.

"I'm important to you?"

"I know you will not believe it. And even if you do, what difference would it make? If I told you that I was friends with you, in a different time entirely, would that even mean anything to you?"

"It might, if you meant it."

"I _do_ mean it," she wanted to scream, but, somehow, feeling Kyouko's fingers touching her own made her less willing to do something rash. "I swear it. When we first fought together, when I still believed I could fix my mistakes easily if I tried hard enough, we _were_ friends. Good friends, Kyouko. We all were."

"Were we happy?"

"No," she scoffed. "No, not really. Sometimes we were, I suppose, but we never had happy endings, or else I would not be here. If you ask for honesty, I will give it to you, but I also beg you not to make me tell you the things that happened. The ways we all hurt each other." Whenever Mami found out about the nature of the witches, she invariably killed Kyouko before all others. Homura figured that was best left unsaid.

"So… Do you care?" She asked, coming closer to Homura. "When we die, I mean. You must have seen it so many times… I thought that it wouldn't matter at all to you, since you've seen it again and again, but…"

"Of course I care. I'm not surprised anymore, nor do I cry, but I care. I used to care more, I'll admit. By now I've accepted that Mami and Sayaka must die before the month is over."

"Have you really been unable to save them?"

"Must I really talk about that tonight?" Homura blurted out. "I told you I'd be honest, but… I failed to consider how that would make me feel. Suffice to say, it is not for me to save Mami and Sayaka. Please understand that I am no savior. I thought I was, when I first gained these powers. I thought I could mend all wrongs. It used to make me feel so powerful," she laughed, bitter. "I could fix everything and save everyone, I thought. I could offer Sayaka guidance so that she would not be disillusioned. I could always be there for Mami when she endangered herself. I thought I could fix your pain," she put a finger on Kyouko's chest. "Forgive me for that," she said, and by then she was nearly breaking down. "For thinking I had the power to make you stop hurting. That your sadness was something for me to fix. That you needed to be fixed, even."

"H-Homura? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know what happened to your family," something stirred in Kyouko's eyes when she said that, but she didn't shove Homura away, nor did she seem angry. She just stood there and listened. "You've told me. And I used to think that if I were a good enough friend to you, that if you were close enough, you would be able to forget all that."

"Why are you telling me this? It was another time, wasn't it? You haven't hurt me here, not in any way."

"I know I haven't," she said, "but I wanted to be honest about that. I wanted to apologize for ever thinking of you as a person who needed help, and not as my friend. And you _are_ my friend. Even if I'm not yours…"

"You are," Kyouko said, and those words made Homura feel so much lighter, safer, and it was as if for the first time in ages she actually had any firm ground beneath her feet. For once she did not feel like she was falling. "Look, I can't understand you the way you understand me. I know that. I know you've lived much longer than any of us. But everything you told me just tonight… And what you did for me, when you didn't have to… I feel like I should also apologize for not understanding you. Even if I had no way of doing so until we came here. But I think that now I do understand you a little bit."

"Kyouko…" Homura's arms felt weak, but still she rose them to hug Kyouko. Her touch was still familiar, as familiar as her embrace. She hadn't forgotten, as she feared she would.

The sound of leaves blowing to the wind broke the night's silence, and startled Homura. It made Kyouko snicker, though her eyes were still red, still sorrowful.

"I'll fight with you, then," said Kyouko. "Though we have such little time…"

"I always have little time," said Homura, getting a doubtful look from Kyouko.

"You're the person with the most time in the world, Homura."

"I wish," she said, letting go of the embrace, serious again. "But no. I only have this month, and I have lived it again and again. One month is not nearly enough time for me to do everything I must. I don't get much sleep. I must always prepare, must always ensure I can be where I must be. One month is never enough for me to ready myself to stop Walpurgisnacht, but it's also enough time for me to watch the lives of everyone I love get ruined. It's certainly not enough for me to make everything right. A whole month, lived again and again, and yet it always feels like everything happens in the last minute. I've lived this month for so long. Longer than poor Sayaka's entire life, at least," she sighed. "I really wanted to help her. I know you did, too. Sometimes I catch myself praying that you and Madoka will be able to save her from being a witch. I pray a miracle will happen. It never does. We can't save Sayaka. I wish she could save herself. Until now, she hasn't been able to do so."

"How many times, Homura?" Kyouko asked again, insisted.

"Sometimes I feel like I was born in the middle of the month. As if I sprung like this into the world, in the midst of horror and hopelessness. I don't remember any other sort of life now, nor can I imagine one. If this month ever ends, I don't remember how to live anymore. It terrifies me, Kyouko. What I've done to myself. The maze I'm stuck in."

The clouds had shifted, then, revealing a handful of stars and their pale light, but they did little to alleviate the darkness, and the wind only grew colder. The two girls huddled together for some warmth, but found little of it. The two found it best to keep moving, then, and soon they were back at the barren city, its streets tinted a soft orange by the lights around.

"I used to love Madoka," Homura admitted. "A mad love. It's why I wanted to save her most of all. I wanted to be the one to free her from her terrible fate. I wanted to protect her, and I wanted her to love me for that, to see all I have done for her, how much I struggled for her sake, all the time I gave for her. There was a time when I felt that she owed me her love for that, for my dedication, for all I had fought for her sake alone."

"Do you not love her anymore?"

"She was my best friend. For that I will always love her. But not in the way I used to. It only made me miserable, that sick desire, that need for her to admire me, love me. It made me see her not as a person but as a goal. Now I just hope I can be her friend again. That would mean the world to me."

Kyouko said nothing. She just continued to walk besides Homura, her hand on her shoulder. Her limp was still pretty bad, her gait slow, but now she did not look as if she was about to fall over and die. Still, her state worried Homura. The worst was knowing that Kyouko could do nothing about it. At a hospital, they would ask her questions she would not be willing to answer, about why she was alone, about her family, and why she had been hurt. Homura knew that Kyouko was well aware that magical girls could depend only on one another, and even that, sometimes, was too much to ask for.

"It's cold," Homura stated the obvious. "I don't think we should stay out too long."

"Yeah," Kyouko agreed. Sickness wasn't something they really had to worry about, but that didn't make the cold any less biting. "We split up now?"

"Don't be stupid," said Homura. "Look at your leg. You can't possibly walk home," she said, and then realized how stupid she had just been. Kyouko had no home, she remembered, it had burned down, and all she had left was a ruined, abandoned church. It made her feel a pang of guilt: though Homura had no family as well, they at least had left her their home.

"I can manage. You must know I'm resilient."

"It's not matter of resilience. Come to my house, Kyouko."

"Don't wanna trouble you," she mocked courtesy.

"You're stubborn. And not in a good way. You're coming with me, Kyouko. It'll be good for the two of us."

"Are you so worried I'm gonna sleep on a bench? I have magic. If I want to, I can just enter a hotel room unseen."

"You don't have to sneak into my house. That's got to be a plus. And, besides," she lowered her voice even though no one could possibly hear, "after what the two of us have been through tonight, we'd really best not be alone. If not for comfort, so that the little beast can't come trouble us. Please, Kyouko. Come with me. I want you."

Not _need_. Homura realized what she had said only after she spoke, but didn't bother correcting herself. It wasn't wrong, after all. She did want Kyouko. She had lost so much that was precious to her, time and time again, but whenever she looked at her side and saw the girl she supported, wounded but still brave, still beautiful and strong, she couldn't bear the thought of being apart again.


	2. Daughter of Mist

The house was needlessly large, far too big for Homura to ever think it cozy, its rooms too wide and open for the scarce furniture to possibly fill, but Kyouko's presence made it a much warmer place, more pleasant. The empty spaces appeared smaller now, Homura realized only in the morning, as she woke.

They slept in the living room, Homura on a cushy black couch, while Kyouko preferred a warm futon. The past night had left the two so exhausted that they just laid down, exchanged a few words, and promptly fell asleep. Homura could not remember what she even said, nor could she recall getting a futon for Kyouko in the first place. Of the prior evening she recalled little past locking the door once she and Kyouko were inside, and the warmth and safety that she felt when she did so. It was the first thing she thought of once she was awake, and it made her feel astonishingly serene.

She was the first to rise, of course. She loathed to wake up late, even if it meant she only got precious few hours of rest, so despite having gone to sleep some hours past midnight, she still got up just after dawn. Usually she kept her curtains open, to let sunlight tear her from her slumber, but for Kyouko's sake, she closed them that night, so when she opened her eyes and saw that it was dark, she was taken aback for a brief moment.

When Homura looked down to see Kyouko still asleep, a vague melancholy gnawed at her: Kyouko looked so vulnerable when she slept, her bite gone, her face almost sad. It made Homura wonder if she was having a bad dream. She called out Kyouko's name, softly, but had to give her a light shake on the shoulder to get her to wake up. To her surprise, Kyouko's hand clutched her own, her grip firm, almost painful. When she let go, Kyouko seemed shocked as well, but relaxed as she realized it was Homura who was with her.

"Sorry 'bout that," she said, trying to get up. Her eyes looked tired. "What time is it?"

"Dawn," said Homura. The answer made Kyouko groan. "I'm sorry if I woke you too early. If you would like to go back to sleep, then-"

"No, no," she said, quickly. "It's fine. It's probably best if I wake now. I did not sleep well."

"Does your body still hurt?"

"Hm? Yeah, it still does, a little, but that's not it. It'll heal soon, anyways. Always does. I just had bad dreams."

"Ah," Homura didn't know what to say. She could already assume what Kyouko dreamed of. Nightmares were a common occurrence for magical girls: something about the magic within a witch's barrier tainted the mind and ensured bad dreams. Although she knew, Homura asked anyways. "Sayaka?"

"Mhm," Kyouko rose, and sat on the couch, next to Homura. Though she could not recall doing it, she must have given some of her clothes to Kyouko the night before, so that she would not have to wear something stained with her own dried blood. The two were about the same size, fortunately. "It's stupid. I shouldn't dwell on it."

"It's not stupid. You can't choose what you dream. Do you want to talk?" Kyouko didn't answer, and Homura did not press the matter. "I'll go make us breakfast, if that's alright with you," she got up, and felt Kyouko tug at her sleeve.

"Wait. I'll go with you. Let me help you."

"It's just eggs, rice, and maybe tea," said Homura. "You don't need to trouble yourself."

"No, it's not any trouble," she said, avoiding Homura's gaze. "I… I haven't cooked meals in a long time. Not even simple ones. Not since I've been alone. I've just stolen whatever I wanted, but didn't prepare anything myself. I miss that."

Homura understood, and nodded. She walked towards the kitchen, and heard Kyouko's footsteps just behind her, following closely. She remembered, then, that Kyouko was the only person that she had ever invited into her house. Kyouko was always the last one standing, after Mami and Sayaka were lost, and was the only one who would actually consider trusting Homura. No wonder it felt almost natural for her to be here.

Kyouko was a fantastic helping hand, despite not being, at first, entirely awake: she was quick and eager, and always seemed to find whatever Homura asked of her in a moment. She noticed, too, that each time Kyouko opened the fridge or a cabinet and saw that they were filled, her eyes became full of life, and her mouth was left agape. It didn't take much for their breakfast to start getting more and more elaborate as the two decided to indulge in all they wanted, and the kitchen was filled with the smells of sizzling meat, fresh bread, coffee brewing. Such excess was not something that Homura would really do on her own, but with Kyouko by her side, it was delightful. The house had not known laughter in so long, but Kyouko managed to draw out the occasional giggle from Homura whenever the piles of food that Kyouko set on her plate collapsed.

But that laughter, of course, was short-lived. When they sat down to eat at the dining room's overly large table, always jarringly vacant, Kyouko had grown quiet, thoughtful. Sayaka was on her mind, Homura presumed, but didn't think it was in her place to question her. She ate in silence, patient, but for the longest time, Kyouko didn't touch her food. Suddenly, then, her eyes welled up with agonized tears and she ate with a ferocity that disturbed Homura: she tore her meat to pieces with quick bites, hardly chewing before swallowing, and seemed to pour the contents of her plate into her mouth so quickly that it was a miracle she wasn't choking. She drank juices and milk and hot chocolate and soda all together, one after the other, and by the time she was finished, she was coughing, panting, her eyes red.

"The end of the week," she said, her mouth still full. "That's when Walpurgisnacht comes, right?" Homura responded with a brisk nod. "We'll probably lose, won't we?" She didn't answer, but her silence seemed to say enough to Kyouko. "I'd better stuff myself as much as I can before I die, then. That way at least I can say that one good thing happened to me in my life."

"You won't die," said Homura, reaching out for Kyouko's hand. When she held it, she felt that it was shaking, flimsy.

"But I always die, don't I?" She asked. "Like Sayaka."

"Yes. But not now. It'll be different this time."

It wasn't ever different, Homura knew that well enough. She couldn't tell why she was so determined this time, after everything. She just held tighter to Kyouko's hand.

"I hope you're right, but I don't think you are."

Homura didn't think so either. She sighed, let go of Kyouko and got up, picking up her plate, then made her way towards the kitchen. Behind, she saw that Kyouko was headed to the couch, leaving her mess atop the table.

"Kyouko," she called her. "We're washing the dishes."

"Eh? What for?" She complained. "What's the point of doing that if you're probably gonna turn back time again in a couple days?"

"We're washing the dishes," Homura repeated. Kyouko might have given up, but Homura could not, especially now. "We're not coming back to a dirty house. When we've defeated Walpurgisnacht, we're having a feast. The two of us. Anything- Or, rather, everything we want."

Kyouko opened her mouth and words of protest seemed to cluster at the tip of her tongue, but in the end she just grabbed her plates and followed Homura towards the kitchen. Washing the dishes was not nearly as fun as cooking them, so the two were mostly silent. Cold water seeped through her fingers, and without Kyouko's jovial laughter to distract her, Homura stared at her own kitchen, so sterile and empty, too large, almost perfectly clean, not because Homura ever cleaned it but because she rarely used it in the first place. Like Kyouko, she usually ate out, though she at least paid for what she wanted, which was never much.

"You're alone here," Kyouko said; she must have noticed her barren surroundings just as Homura did.

"I am," Homura didn't know how else to answer. She could tell that Kyouko wanted to know more, but didn't know if it was proper to ask. Homura chose to explain herself, thinking of the honesty she had promised. "My parents have died long ago, leaving me this house. I've been left alone since nobody really can take care of me. The rest of my family, I think, expects me to die soon."

"You don't sound saddened about it," Kyouko remarked. "I didn't mean to pry or dig open old wounds, but-"

"It doesn't hurt. It doesn't make me feel a thing. My family means nothing to me. They are of another life."

"Ah, right," Kyouko set aside her last plate, and leaned against a nearby counter, looking right at Homura. Water dripped from the tips of her hair, water that had spilled into her from the sink. Speaking of family seemed to make her miserable, and Homura's own coldness made her visibly disconcerted, but she did not look away, and for that Homura was thankful. "It's been a while since you must have last seen them, given… You know."

"Too long," Homura confirmed. "I have few memories of my parents, and what little comes to mind is vague. They died some years back, in truth," _some years_ meant very different things for her and Kyouko, but she thought she was being clear enough, "and they are such a distant remembrance now. The saddest thing - or at least I think it would be sad, if I could care - was that I did not mourn them. Yes, I remember _this_ , at least. Even then their deaths didn't make me sad. I was going to die, too, and soon. My heart, you see" she put a hand on her chest. "When they died, I was so certain that I would be reunited with them in no time. There was no doubt in my mind that, before long, I would close my eyes, and when I opened them, I would already be gone, and somewhere else. So I did not cry too much."

"Yet you didn't die."

"A miracle," Homura smiled weakly. "But not one that made me hopeful. Up until I made my contract with Kyubey, I was dying. Though I managed to live for longer than anyone expected of me, each passing year only made it less possible for the miracle to endure. Each year made the next one more likely to be my last."

Kyouko had come closer to her, shaken, and wrapped her arms around her. This made her sad, Homura realized. Yes, she reflected, it was quite the maudlin tale. A young girl, all alone, left to die… Homura wondered if that made her sad and self-pitying, once, and she had just forgotten. She had forgotten so much.

"Didn't you have more family?" Kyouko asked. "Cousins, grandparents, an uncle…"

"I did. Still do. Mainly they took care of formalities, like signing papers I couldn't, or approving surgeries that I needed to stay alive. Sometimes they visited," she tried to remember those visits, but could not. She knew their names, and their voices, as sometimes they'd phone her to ask how well she adapted to living alone, but their faces were lost to her. "Not often. Usually I was alone in the hospitals."

"That's awful!"

"I don't blame them. Maybe I should, but I don't. I was ill from the moment I was born. Like I told you, I was expected to either die or lead an extremely limited life. I can't blame them for not being able to care too much about the girl who lived in a hospital, who could not play with her cousins, who could never visit them, who was always bad news, whose fate had been sealed at her birth."

"And you were okay with that?"

"I don't know," said Homura. "I am now. I don't remember how I felt about it then. It's all mist now, everything before I became a magical girl. Before this endless month. As far as I'm concerned, I never lived anything but this month," Kyouko tightened her grasp, and Homura returned the hug. She liked the feeling of Kyouko's arms around her back, so she stayed like that, quiet and still, and warm. She could not bring herself to feel any sorrow. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't enjoy being so gloomy. I just don't have too many happy things to share."

"That's okay," Kyouko forced herself to smile. Not too successfully, given her watering eyes, but Homura loved her for trying. "I'm a downer too. Being so certain of my death," she sighed, shrugged. "You know about my family, too. Not a fun story you'd tell at parties. Or any occasion lighter than a funeral. I guess we were just born unlucky, to have to face all this sadness."

"I was lucky once, at least," said Homura, putting her face right in front of Kyouko's, so that their foreheads were nearly touching. "I'm glad to have met you. And glad to have remembered how much you mean to me. I think I feel happy when I'm with you."

"So you're happy to be sad with me?" Kyouko smirked. It was an expression that suited her face far more than tears or even gentle smiles.

"You could put it that way. Ah, Kyouko," she put her head on her shoulder, as she realized something. "I don't feel lonely now. I had felt like that for so long that I even forgot it hurt."

Kyouko needed no words to answer that, nor did Homura want words. The two simply continued to hold one another, and that was all that she needed. There was a comforting tenderness to Kyouko's embrace, one that was a sweet surprise to Homura, who knew so much about everyone around her that she did not think she could ever be surprised by them again. She was deeply glad to be wrong.

When that was done, the two put all the plates, glasses and cups in their right place. It was such a small thing, and very likely pointless, but it felt like a promise that they would return, and it returned to Homura some of the confidence she had lost over the countless times she had relived this month. Kyouko reminded her of so much that was important, so much that had been lost to the mist, and just for that, Homura was thankful beyond words.

But that, of course, was not the only thing she was thankful for, nor was gratitude all she felt for Kyouko. That much she could not doubt now.

Afterwards the two bathed, Kyouko first - for her face was still smudged with dirt and dust from the past night - and for such a long time that it made Homura worry even though she knew that, logically, nothing could be wrong. She could not blame Kyouko for wanting to relax on the warm water, though. The past night had been harsh, even to Homura, who had grown so used to watching Sayaka's fate. Kyouko, then, must have been hit extremely hard. Homura wished she had words of comfort for that, just as she wished she could offer Madoka any relief, but she knew all too well that, even at this, time was far more powerful than her.

It was her turn after Kyouko's, and she too lingered in the bath, thinking a hundred thoughts as she let the pleasant water envelop her. She did not feel like she was in a hurry this time, even though she knew that in just a few days the sky would be torn asunder by the coming of Walpurgisnacht, and perdition would descend upon them. A disquieting thought, one that nearly made her jump up and run to finish her preparations, but Homura calmed herself by saying that she had already taken many precautions setting up her battle strategy against Walpurgisnacht. She had help now, she told herself, and time. Not being alone made things so much easier… She just enjoyed the quiet and the warmth, knowing that she needn't rush madly now that she had Kyouko with her.

Kyouko awaited in the living room, casually sitting upon a couch, her arms taking up most of its space, her feet carelessly resting upon the glass surface of the coffee table. The soaked tips of her red hair fell down on the cushions, too. Homura assumed that she was not too used to being a guest, so she didn't care. She did, however, smirk when she saw that Kyouko was wearing her clothes, and they did not at all become her. They fit her pretty well, but the frilly ends of her long white sleeves only made her look silly, and her long socks were just slightly mismatched in color. When Kyouko noticed that she was not alone, she quickly rose, and the pink on her face betrayed her embarrassment.

"I'll slap ya if you laugh," she said, pulling up her sleeves. "It's so much easier when you transform and your clothes just pop up on your body. Besides, you've got some weird clothes that just don't match."

"That's because you're wearing a dress top for formal occasions, but an entirely different skirt, and these socks you're supposed to wear for winter, under your pants," she put a hand on her mouth to thwart a giggle.

"I knew that!" She said, then sat down again. Homura took her side, and Kyouko actually allowed her enough space to sit comfortably. "I hope you don't mind," she said, pointing at a bag of chips on the table, "but I went to the kitchen," she picked it up, and offered to Homura, who accepted, though she was not hungry.

"I don't mind," she said. "Be comfortable," just as she said that, Kyouko put her feet up on the table again, and stretched her arms.

Kyouko was not eating voraciously anymore, as if desperate, which Homura took as a good sign. That was a bad habit of hers, though of course Homura could not fault her for it.

"So," Kyouko began. "I don't expect we're going to be sitting on our asses here waiting for Walpurgisnacht, right?"

"Of course not," said Homura. She was glad that Kyouko was taking this very seriously. "We have three days left, although there has been _one_ occasion in which she appeared one day later than expected."

"Well, I'll admit that I'm really not prepared for her. I don't know anything about Walpurgisnacht other than that she's bad news. I didn't even think she was a serious threat until you told me about her."

"I know a lot about her," Homura said, and it was hard not to speak with some bitterness. "More than I would like to, and, so far, it hasn't really helped me much. I'll tell you all I know, of course, when we are preparing."

"Three days… Is that enough?"

"I have already set up my weapons around the area where she will likely appear, and have accounted for the variance. I'll show it to you. Three days will be all we need, whether we meet with disaster or prevail, if we make good use of them. It's even better now that I am not alone, and am not so pressed for time. But the days that come after Sayaka," Homura spoke in nebulous terms, but there was no way to make Sayaka's fate seem any kinder, "are usually not as busy as the others. I let Madoka alone, and I know that she will not be receptive to Kyubey's treachery. Well, not until Walpurgisnacht arrives. When I fail to save Mitakihara from Walpurgisnacht, Madoka tends to make the contract to keep everyone safe."

"If Madoka can-"

"No," Homura would not discuss this. "I am fighting to end this without her needing to become like us. So that she will not see her own wish corrupted and become the vilest witch to haunt creation."

"I see," Kyouko sighed. Without knowing all that Homura did, it ought to sound disappointing to hear they could not count on Madoka. "If you say it's for the best, then I'll trust you."

"Thank you," Homura said, and meant it. Afterwards, she got up. "Would you like me to show it to you now? The place where will make our stand."

"Sure," said Kyouko. "Knowing how you fight, there's gonna be a lot of bombs there, right? Well, I don't wanna get blown up so I'd best pay attention."

Homura agreed with a quick "mhm", and remembered something. She excused herself, quickly went into her bedroom, still perfectly tidy, rarely used, and searched within her drawers for a little gift for Kyouko. When she returned, she showed Kyouko her open palms, and the black ribbon that lay there.

"You lost yours last night," Homura said. "You can use mine, if you don't mind."

"Oh, thanks," she took it, grinning. "It's really helpful, honestly. I hate it when my dang hair gets on my face when I'm fighting."

"Yes, that seems like a pain. It's best if that doesn't happen while you're fighting Walpurgisnacht. She's a dangerous enough foe when you're not blinded."

Homura had not actually thought of that, of course, but the real reason was something she'd rather not say now. The truth was simply that she felt that it might make Kyouko happy, and she wished to see her smile. She made no mention of that, however, for even though she had promised honesty to Kyouko, she still judged herself deserving of this one secret, for now.


	3. Eternal Silence

Sometimes it seemed to Homura that she had spent years of her life within witches' barriers, but even after all that time, whenever a barrier faded and she returned to reality, she felt as if her head might burst in pain. She felt her body contort and twist, a feeling she found best described as passing through a hole far too small for her, but even so it was the headaches that were the worst.

Kyouko seemed to share her opinion, for when the two found themselves back atop the roof of Mitakihara's hospital, she rubbed her own forehead, her eyes closed in agony. She grumbled something that did not make too much sense, but Homura said nothing, and simply reached down to claim the Grief Seed by her feet.

"This witch is always unusually quick in bringing her barrier to this hospital," Homura remarked. Kyouko seemed to be too busy fighting off the urge to throw up to hear her, but Homura kept talking. "I've always thought that more than slightly odd."

"Why?" Kyouko's voice was strained. It was almost funny how the trauma of leaving the witch's barrier seemed to have hurt her more than fighting the witch herself. "No point trying to make sense of what the witches do."

"Surely you can understand that after making this month stretch out for years, the notion of understanding witches and, perhaps, even healing them was, for a while, extremely appealing to me."

"Ah. So that is why you knew that I had no chance of saving Sayaka?" Homura nodded. _That,_ she thought, _and first-hand experience, countless times._ She kept the thought to herself. "Why is it that you find this witch we just fought so odd, then?"

"There was another witch here, not long ago. The witch that killed Mami," Kyouko did an admirable job of not letting any emotions show, but Homura saw something shift in her eyes. Kyouko would never ask about Mami, Homura knew. She understood all too well what it meant to be a magical girl, so her death was, if sad, not at all a surprise. "Hospitals are common domains of witches, but it took less than a week for this new witch to take the place of the vanquished one. That was very hasty of her. Most witches take longer to transfer their barriers, unless they employ their familiars, but this witch did it on her own. I know because I've seen it," she anticipated Kyouko's question. "It makes me very curious. Do witches have personalities? Does something remain of the soul that once was? When you looked at Sayaka and what she became, perhaps you might have seen something about her or her barrier that made you think that it was definitely Sayaka, that her heart endured, even if twisted… But can we ever know? No witch has ever explained herself. What we have is only conjecture."

"You seem to have thought a lot about witches," Kyouko said, but there was no accusation in her voice. "Is it because…?"

Kyouko left her words unsaid. It was as if she realized, as she uttered the question, that she would rather not know the answer. Homura looked into the night sky, stretching ever onwards. It was dark and starless, windy and silent, and cold. It was cold, most of all. Kyouko need not know the answer to her question, and for that, Homura envied her deeply. She knew the price of wishes and miracles far too well to even find a shred of solace in praying that she would forget what she had seen and learned.

Because, after all, why would she not be desperate to understand the hearts of the witches when she had, time and time again, seen her own dearest friends become witches themselves? That damnation seemed to be Sayaka's inexorable fate, more than anyone else's, but Madoka had known that dreadful end as well, and Mami, too, even when Homura did all she could to spare her from the gruesome demise that so often awaited her.

She turned back to look at Kyouko. She had been a witch, too, and just the memory of it made Homura struggle to remain calm. She thought that she had managed to make it stop hurting, but of course it never did. She had only lied to herself when she believed that she couldn't suffer anymore, that Kyouko meant nothing to her.

 _And everyone I care about_ , she corrected herself. _Not only Kyouko_. Lately Kyouko was always on her mind, although in truth that was hardly a complaint, and Homura did nothing to remove her from there.

Homura put the Grief Seed into the discreet black case she carried with her, with all the others. Though she usually did not dwell upon them, now she could not help but shiver as she remembered that each one of those was all that remained of a witch, and though the majority of them were - if fate still held a shred of kindness - originally familiars, some were bound to be lost magical girls. Those things, so small, even beautiful, were the sole remnants of their souls. _And now we eat them._ That ought to disgust her, and perhaps it did, before, but now those doubts were gone. For good or ill, she could not tell.

Kyouko's hand touched hers as she too glanced at the case, at the Seeds they had collected. Her eyes were large, fascinated, and even a bit distraught.

"How many?" She asked softly.

"Nineteen."

"So many… How could you save all of these?"

"I don't use much magic," Homura said, and admittedly that was a bit difficult to believe, so she clarified. "I don't need to stop time all that often. I already know almost everything that will happen, having seen it all so many times, so I've learned the shortest path, so to speak. I've learned to avoid unnecessary dangers that would require me to use magic to save myself. And I know where the witches roam. I know from which familiars they will birth, as well as when and where."

"I see," that seemed to satisfy Kyouko, but the sight of all those Grief Seeds still made her uneasy. "Is Sayaka's there?" Homura nodded, and it drew no reaction from Kyouko. "Alright."

"If it ever makes you feel like we are doing something wrong, that we are using their deaths for our own gain, I promise you that we will absolutely need those Grief Seeds to face Walpurgisnacht."

"I don't feel wrong about it," she said. Homura had expected that to be her answer. "They're dead. It's Sayaka's death that hurts me, and the way she- No, _we_ were all tricked. But this doesn't make me feel bad. I would be a hypocrite if I said it did. You may know this already, from another time, but not every Grief Seed I've gotten has been… Fairly acquired."

"You have not told me that," Homura said. She had always presumed that, given Kyouko's past, but only now was her suspicion confirmed.

She shared the tale as they made their way back home. Tonight they returned earlier, so there was still some life in the streets of Mitakihara, but at no moment did anyone pay them any mind. Kyouko told her of the other magical girls in Kazamino, whence she came, and how they often crossed paths. Her battle with Sayaka was from her first, or her fiercest. There, magical girls are predators, and their prey was anything weaker than them, which, of course, included other magical girls as well. Grief Seeds were, sometimes, wrung from magical girls who could not protect themselves from the stronger. That was the order of things, Kyouko said, and she had benefited from it. As she spoke, her eyes were deeply focused on Homura's, like she was waiting for any manner of judgment, of disappointment. Instead she simply nodded, unbothered. That brought Kyouko some comfort, for which she offered thanks silently, with only her stare.

When they reached Homura's house, the lights still shone all around them, from lamps and windows of nearby buildings. Her house, Homura noticed, was the only one dressed in darkness. Though the streets were not deserted, there were few pedestrians to be seen, and traffic was the main sign of activity in Mitakihara. By this time, most people were already at home. The past nights had been unusually cold for spring, so it was no wonder that few were inclined to stay outside. When Homura thought of the warmth inside, she felt a longing, a desire to be home, safe, cozy. Not alone. She hadn't looked forward to getting to her house in a very long time, so long that she could hardly remember.

The place didn't feel like _home_ until just the past few days, she realized as she unlocked the door and watched Kyouko step inside, carelessly tossing her shoes on a corner. She went to the kitchen before anywhere else, and returned from there before Homura could even reach her, holding a box of chocolate that Homura had never found on her own.

"You know my pantry better than I do," said Homura. It was an aunt - or a grandmother, or a cousin, she couldn't remember this detail - who had bought everything Homura would need to live on her own. She vaguely recalled being taught the hospital's phone number, and told to call it before any other should she ever need help.

"You _really_ don't spend much time here, huh?" Kyouko put a bonbon in Homura's hand, the same sort she was eating. To Homura it tasted excessively sweet, but she still wanted another one.

"No reason to stay here too long," she answered. "It's a waste of time, and I have very little of it to throw away."

"You can throw it away tonight," Kyouko approached her, throwing another candy into her mouth, "right?" Her face was right in front of Homura, almost too close, but she didn't protest. "You have such tired eyes," she said, and Homura looked away to avoid her gaze. "Look at me. You're home. It's still early, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Thanks to you," she said. "Your assistance makes it much easier to defeat witches, and faster, too."

"I'm happy to help," she grinned, showing her teeth. She had lost more of them this night, and though she would just use her magic to restore them, until then, Homura presumed, her smile should look ugly, but to her it was comforting. No blood or hurt could ever rob that smile of its earnestness.

After they bathed, they met at the kitchen to cook dinner together. It was not a delightfully happy moment as it had been earlier, almost euphoric, but there was something pleasant in its quiet simplicity, and how they could simply eat together with no rush at all. _I could get used to this lethargy,_ Homura thought for a moment, but a doubt crept up on her, the doubt of whether or not she would have the chance to get used to joy in the first place. She got up, told Kyouko she had eaten enough, and the day had left her tired, so she was headed to bed. Kyouko's distraught visage left no question that she knew that something troubled Homura, but all she said was "goodnight". For a moment it looked as if she meant to ask what was wrong, and Homura wished she would do so, but she decided against it, in the end. As Homura retreated to her bedroom, she saw Kyouko headed towards the kitchen, no doubt to eat whatever she could get her hands on, as she was wont to when anxious.

Homura wished that she could find the courage to go to Kyouko and learn what troubled her, but she too did nothing, and closed her bedroom door. In the darkness, it was entirely unfamiliar to her, and she stumbled upon a desk. It reminded her of how rarely she'd sleep in her own bed.

She, of course, was not sleepy at all, so for the longest time she only stared at the deep blackness, arms wide open for all her insecurities to embrace her all at once. _This happiness will not last_ , they hummed all around her, _if you succumb to this hope, you will break when it abandons you,_ they muttered into her ear, _you must not dream, for there is no tomorrow, and when you wake you will only find yourself right at the beginning of this labyrinth, ceaselessly, inevitably,_ they screamed in her head.

Her face was kissed by cold tears. She had not wept in far too long, so it felt to Homura as if she was doing something wrong by crying. She kept thinking of Kyouko, of what they had shared in these past few days that felt more significant than years of her life, and she was terrified that it might all be for naught, that despite all this they might still fail, that she would be back in the hospital, starting the eternal month anew. Kyouko reminded Homura of happiness, but also brought back the crushing fear of losing something so important to her.

Homura jumped out of bed, and rushed to the guest room, decided to talk to Kyouko, to not let her worries fester unsaid, but she couldn't find her in bed. Instead she heard sounds of eating coming from the living room. She found Kyouko sitting on the floor, her back against a couch, surrounded by empty packages of snacks and cookies. Homura said nothing, and instead simply sat next to Kyouko, who, also wordless, responded by offering her a biscuit, which Homura took happily.

"Were you thinking, too?" Kyouko asked when she finished another bag of chips. "Is that why you couldn't sleep?"

"Yeah," Homura said at once. She did not wish to make Kyouko worried, but at the same time, she felt thankful that Kyouko cared so much. "Usually I'm good at not filling my head with painful thoughts, but when it does happen, I never know what to do. I can't stop thinking of everything I've done wrong, all the ways I could be hurt."

"It sucks," Kyouko said. Her hand reached for more sweets, but she restrained herself. Homura could tell that it was a difficult impulse for her to overcome. "I hate thinking. When I try to sleep, I mean. I never have any good thoughts. Don't have too many happy memories to dwell on."

"We'll have good thoughts someday," Homura mouthed a hollow promise, not only to Kyouko but to herself as well. "When all is over."

Kyouko's smile was sad. "Together?" Homura nodded.

"Unless you don't want me by your side. I figured we would leave Mitakihara once we defeat Walpurgisnacht. We've gotten rid of all the witches and familiars here. The city is safe. Cleansed. Few cities in history have ever been cleansed from witches, but that's what we did with Mitakihara."

"We _could_ travel together," Kyouko said. "This is a fine city, though. Shame we'll have to leave it. You sure we couldn't have left some familiars so we'd still have a job here?"

"No," she said, stern. "Long ago I promised Madoka that I would not let her become a magical girl. I would not let her suffer as we have. For her sake, I can't merely defeat Walpurgisnacht. Once I'm gone, I must leave behind a safe Mitakihara, one where no one will need to make a contract to protect."

"Huh," Kyouko sighed, then paused. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper. "You really loved her, didn't you? You told me, but I had no idea of the lengths you've gone to."

"Yes. I wish I didn't have to leave," Homura said, and putting it to words made her intentions seem that much more real. It was easy to imagine herself leaving Mitakihara, but to say it like this, now that it seemed so close, felt like a dagger to her chest. She sighed. "I have to, though. I can't live here anymore. I can't be friends with Madoka, no matter how much I want to be. Not after all that we've been through. She… She will need to do a lot of thinking on her own when all this is done. What with everything that she has lost. And I'd feel dishonest, too, and-"

"That's bullshit," Kyouko declared. "You're making up excuses. You should talk to her."

"K-Kyouko?"

"She lost her best friend. You may think you have no comfort to offer her, but you do. You're afraid, aren't you?" Homura kept quiet. "What are you scared of? That she'll resent you for not saving Sayaka? Homura, she will not hate you," she put her hands on Homura's shoulder. "If you explain to her-"

"I can't explain it to her."

"Then she will never be your friend again," Kyouko said. That was the most painful thing; the very words made Homura wince, and Kyouko noticed it at once. "I'm sorry for being blunt. I just wanted to share my thoughts with you. If you-"

Before she could finish speaking, Homura's arms were on her body, holding tight to her. She put her head on Kyouko's shoulder, and felt her hand on top of it, brushing it in a slow caress.

"It's hard, Kyouko," Homura said. "Thinking of the future is so difficult for me, when I've been stuck in a present unending, a today that knows no tomorrow. I was lost for so long, thinking that the future would never come," and the possibility remained that it never would, "that my first instinct is to run away. Leave Mitakihara. Abandon everyone I used to know. That was all the thought I ever put into tomorrow. When I spoke of us having a feast together… That was the first plan I've made in ages. That is all I have to guide me after we vanquish Walpurgisnacht. I'm scared."

"I know you are," she continued to stroke Homura's head, and her other arm kept her close to her own body. "I'm not gonna tell you not to be scared. I can't pretend I know what it feels like. But I won't leave you alone."

"Kyouko…" She closed her eyes, and felt the overwhelming urge to say something foolish. "You are very dear to me. I'm thankful that my sole plan for the future involves you."

"Geez," she chuckled, "what's this all of a sudden?"

"I just felt I should say it," Homura looked again, and saw Kyouko's affable gaze. This gentleness was something new about Kyouko, something that only now she learned, even as she believed she had very little left to learn about her. This time, she was intensely glad to be wrong. "I _had_ to say it," she said. "I've been silent for so long. I promised that I'd be honest, too."

"I'm happy that you've said it, then," she took Homura's hands. "Can I ask something from you, Homura?" She nodded, slowly. "Let's stay here a while. I can't sleep, and neither can you, so let's just… Let's just talk for a while."

"Yes," Homura said with a smile. Kyouko could not easily admit she needed help, that she craved company, that she was still in pain. This was her way of asking for it, Homura understood. "Yes, I think that would be wonderful."


	4. The Ties of Agony

The cups of coffee on the table had already grown cold by the time Homura found the courage to open her mouth again, after all she had explained, but it was Madoka who spoke first, her voice a murmur only slightly louder than the sound of Kyouko crunching a handful of bland biscuits.

"This all… This all is so…" she began, but did not finish, and grew quiet again as she sunk into a corner of the couch.

Madoka avoided Homura's gaze, looking only at her own feet. She seemed deep in thought, but the silence was smothering, agonizing, and the longer it lasted, the more pitiful she looked. Sometimes she tried to lift her head, about to speak again, but her body was shaking and she panted, about to cry.

"I understand it might be difficult to believe," Homura said, knowing that if she were not to bring an end to the silence, no one would. To her surprise, Madoka was quick to respond.

"I _do_ believe you," she said, and her words came as a great relief. Her deep sadness, however, did not. "I don't think you're a liar. I wish I did. I… I wish I didn't believe you. Because then I would not have to face all this. Not now."

Homura's first instinct was to hold Madoka's hand, to pull her next to her, to guard her in a warm embrace, to tell her that she would be there for her, always, that she was not alone, even when she felt that sorrow would drown her. But this Madoka was not her friend; this was not the Madoka she had loved, the one she had sacrificed her own future for. Homura felt she had no right to say anything to her. Something made her feel ashamed to even be there, and, without even thinking, she reached for her shield, for her escape. _It would be so easy_ , she thought. She could just run away from this and not have to face Madoka. Only when she looked to her side and met Kyouko's stare did she clear her mind and decide to stay.

"So Sayaka was doomed from the beginning," Madoka said, and her words carried the hollow hope of someone who was praying to hear a _no_.

"Yes."

The answer hurt Madoka most of all, who hid her face in her hands, but Kyouko's eyes welled up, too. Even Homura felt discomfort stir within her, and found it hard to stay still.

"Do I want to ask why?" Said Madoka, her face all red. "Do I want to know more?"

"I will not deny you any answers, should you ask," said Homura, "but they will hurt you."

"Ah," Madoka's fingers clutched at her own skirt. "I… I don't think I can bear that right now. Can we… Can we talk about this another time?"

Homura nodded instinctively, but then remembered her plan to leave Mitakihara and never return. Kyouko tugged at her arm, too, as if to remind her of that, urging her to be honest.

"I'm sorry," Homura said. "I don't think there will be another time for us to talk. When all is over and Walpurgisnacht is vanquished, I will leave this city. I have cleansed it of all witches and familiars, so there'll be no reason for a magical girl to protect Mitakihara. No reason for you to sacrifice yourself."

"Leaving?" Madoka's voice was jarringly loud, and her eyes stopped drifting around the room. "Why?"

_Why? Because I'm scared of being here. Running away is the only thing that doesn't terrify me._

"Because I must," she answered, but the words came out empty, dishonest, and they did not convince Madoka. "I can't stay here."

"Why?" She asked again, and Homura did not know what to say. The truth hurt her too much, and it would not do her any good.

"It's best if I don't," said Homura, but despite all the certainty she had felt until then, now all she had were doubts. She felt like a damned fool with each word she spoke. "You won't want me here. Not after everything. I know that things will be difficult and-"

"Is that really it?" Madoka's voice dripped with disappointment. She sat perfectly still for a minute, her eyes on the floor again. And then she looked up, straight into Homura's eyes. "I don't want you to go away."

"I…" Homura didn't expect that to be her answer. She had a vague idea of how she wanted this conversation to go, and had begun to grow used to the idea of departing, of cutting Madoka from her life, if all went well, but suddenly the notion became unbearable again. "I don't want to go away either."

"Then why? Then why are you going?"

"Because… Because…" It was strange. Until she had come to Madoka's house, Homura knew all the words she should say to answer that. She had feared many things that might happen there, but Homura had absolutely not expected that, when asked to explain herself, she would suddenly feel as if the idea of running away was stupid from the beginning. "I don't know," she got up, as she couldn't stand still anymore. "I guess I thought you would despise me. I thought that perhaps you would hate me for not saving Sayaka. For never saving you, for that matter," she had to spit out the words, knowing that if she hesitated for a moment, she would falter, she would flee.

"Why would I hate you for that?" Madoka jumped to her feet, and gingerly stepped towards Homura, extending a hand towards her, meekly.

Homura swallowed, and found that her throat hurt. She looked to Kyouko at her side, and her eyes urged her to be strong. If anything in the world could ever stop Homura from being weak, she learned in that exact moment, it was Kyouko's smile. She breathed deeply, and looked at Madoka in the eyes.

"Because I hate myself for that. I suppose I just expect everyone to hate me for it, too, just as I think everyone would want me to die if they found out."

"I don't hate you," Madoka said, her arms suddenly around Homura. It was a flimsy hug, and it made clear that Madoka did not _love_ her, but if it meant that there was even a small chance of the two being friends again, then Homura wished for nothing more. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you. Why would I wish something that horrible upon you? Sayaka's gone, and so is Mami… Hitomi hasn't been taking things well, either. Why would I want to lose even more people who are important to me?"

"Madoka… I-"

"I'm sorry I can't care about you as you care about me. I really, really am. I wish I could understand the depths of your feelings. I don't think I ever will, but even so, you _are_ important to me. You've been protecting me and everyone, haven't you?"

_Not as diligently as I did, once._

"I've tried," she said. That felt honest enough.

"Things are terrible. The past weeks have been filled with pain, more pain than I ever thought I could endure, even though somehow I did. There's not a way to undo that harm, not without you condemning yourself… So I won't ask that from you. Though I want to," her voice was agonized. "I won't. The only thing I'll ask is for you to stay. Both of you," she looked towards Kyouko. "Don't go. We may not have understood each other all the time, but, if nothing else, we've suffered through the same horror. You've worked so hard to help Sayaka, and Mami before her," her eyes were on Homura again. "I know it was my fault that you had to relive this month again and again," she said, "even though it was a different me. This is so confusing," she made a sound that was almost like laughter, but her eyes welled up. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what's right, if there's even something that's right. I only know that I want you to stay. If you go away, then I'll be alone. I'll be lost."

"We- I won't go," Homura blurted out, feeling, somehow, simultaneously light yet so tired that she could collapse. "Kyouko," she extended her hand, and helped her up as well, "are you staying too?"

She just nodded. She attempted to smile, but could not, and it did not surprise Homura. This was not a time for smiles. Despite the relief of not having to run away, this did not feel like triumph. No, the agony shared between the three girls in the room was far too great for that.

But it felt to Homura that somehow, for the first time in forever, they could, together, help each other hurt less. That was the best that they could do, and though it was probably little, to Homura it was more than she had ever thought attainable.

They had few words to offer to one another after that. No one felt in the mood to make small talk, and after a minute of uncomfortable silence where Homura forced herself to drink her cold, bland coffee, she and Kyouko awkwardly bid goodbye to Madoka, and promised they would see each other soon. It was a promise that, Homura knew, she could not guarantee would not be broken, but if it was, then neither Madoka nor Kyouko would ever know. Homura would just swim against time's tide again, and this moment would be washed away, and all others as well, meaningless in the end.

Madoka showed them the way to the door, and gave them a meek wave of her hand as a goodbye. Homura watched the door close, and found that this was not nearly as conclusive as she had hoped. She could not tell exactly how she felt about it all. Nothing had been mended and nothing had been broken. Whatever happened now, Homura would have to wait to see, should the future come.

_Should the future come…_

As Homura walked away alongside Kyouko, she found herself surprisingly relaxed, almost numb. It was only when she had put some distance between her and Madoka's house that the reality struck her and she froze right in the middle of crossing a street. She was only vaguely aware of the screams of horns honking and the feeling of Kyouko dragging her to the sidewalk, as instead her mind was bursting with a decade of accumulated thoughts, surfacing now, all at once.

This was the furthest she had ever gotten. Homura could not recall a moment where she had ever felt, as she did now, like there was a way out of her labyrinth. Madoka had not looked at her as a friend in so long, just as it had been a lifetime since Homura and Kyouko were this close. _No,_ she thought. _This is closer than we had ever been_. She freed herself from her thoughts, and saw Kyouko's eyes fixed upon Homura's, trying to make sense of what she might be thinking.

Homura felt tears streak her face before she could even think to hold them back. It was a hideous weeping, whole years of restrained feelings that flooded out in thick, warm tears. Homura's face became an ugly red, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, but even when they were, the world was blurry, with only the scarlet of Kyouko's head distinctive enough for her to make sense of. All else melded together. She tried to tell Kyouko what she felt, but no words came out even though she moved her lips. She choked on them, felt them clog her throat. When she forced her words through, they came out a long, hideous groan.

Kyouko let her cry. She coiled an arm around Homura, bringing her close, their faces nearly touching. From up close Homura could make out Kyouko's serene eyes, and though they did little to end her wailing, her heartbeats tempered, and she could breathe easy again. Rough fingers stroked her cheek, then her hair, and Homura returned Kyouko's embrace with both hands, clutching at her dress with a strong grip and a fear of letting go. Kyouko didn't resist, still smiling warmly.

For once Homura lost track of time, and when she finally stopped crying, still holding tight to Kyouko, her first impulse was to let go, embarrassed by her weakness, but she felt too comfortable, so close to Kyouko, and stayed there for a little longer.

"I'm sorry." She wasn't, but said so anyways.

"You've done nothing wrong. How are you feeling?"

"I don't know the word for it," Homura answered. "Maybe it's relief. More than that. I feel like… I feel like tomorrow will come."

"I don't entirely understand," Kyouko smirked, "but I'm glad for you. If you feel hopeful, then so do I."

"Any hope I might feel I owe to you," Homura said. Kyouko shook her head, tried to shrug it off, but her content smile made her feelings all too clear.

Soon enough, Homura had regained her cool, and could keep her feelings at bay. She had not won yet, she could not forget that. She hoped for tomorrow like she hadn't in a long time, and finally saw a path towards it, but had not gotten there yet. Walpurgisnacht could still put an end to all that. And then…

_And then I'll be back where I started._ Homura felt a chill creep through her body, and struggled to keep the dread out of her mind. There was still work to do, and those worries did her no good.

Kyouko followed Homura where she led her, but they were in no great hurry, as it was not even noon, yet. Though they had agreed to make some final preparations for the battle with Walpurgisnacht, Homura felt there was no problem in slowing down. She did not put her fear into words, and didn't need to, as Kyouko, too, understood that if they failed on the morrow, then this would be the last day they could share. It seemed only proper to make it a happy one.

Downtown Mitakihara was life and noise all over, a strange sight to Homura, who only saw it covered in night, desolate and silent. Kyouko was more used to it, and guided Homura to the places she loved the most. First they stopped at a small grocery store, and though its façade was humble, inside Homura found the prettiest fruits she had ever seen, apples the size of her fist, colored a vivid red. _So this is where she gets them_. There the grapes were huge, too, and Homura tried one, felt it burst in her mouth after she gingerly squeezed it with her teeth. The taste made her hope that she would be able to return with more time, later. She paid for all she and Kyouko took, though Kyouko was already with her Soul Gem aglow, readying her magic to make the owner ignore the two as they left.

Their apples didn't last long: Homura finished hers just as they reached another store, and Kyouko was at her fifth. Whenever she caught a glimpse of Homura struggling with her huge apple, picking it apart in tiny bites, she'd snicker. Homura guessed that it must be indeed a bit comical, but to her it was still difficult to laugh at such things.

They went to a candy shop, then, and the glint on Kyouko's eyes as she stared was enchanting to Homura. Kyouko's joy made her so pretty that Homura could only avert her eyes when Kyouko asked if something was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong," Homura would answer, and a minute later she'd be staring again.

Kyouko filled bags with candies and chocolates and strange sweets that Homura had seen but never tasted before. Not all of them looked appetizing, but she didn't complain. She would complain about nothing so minor today.

Her purse was quite lighter once they left, and it was still just barely midday. Kyouko shared a bag of snacks with her, and though Homura wasn't fond of the smell, at first, the taste was addicting. She had never eaten that sort of thing before. It made her remember how little she had actually lived, and made her think of how much she could look forward to, how much was at stake for her now. Even something as petty as this seemed a great deal now. She had a future again, and now Walpurgisnacht stood between her and tomorrow. She could not lose. Now, more than ever before, she could not afford to falter. She had found hopes she had thought lost, her last hopes, and she had put them all into this.

Homura was the one who guided Kyouko to a quiet restaurant, hidden beyond poorly-trafficked streets. She had been there with relatives, once, when they were in town. Going out and having fun was such a rare occasion that Homura had somehow never forgotten it. Her family probably didn't enjoy it nearly as much as she did, she reflected. She was sick and frail that day, more than usual, and she could tell that her illness soured everyone's enjoyment. Still, though it likely meant nothing to them, Homura remembered it well.

The welcome they received when they walked inside the restaurant caught Homura off-guard: she remembered the place well enough, but it had slipped her mind that it had only been two or three months since she had come with her relatives, so the waiters still remembered her, and one even remarked that she must have gotten really healthier, as she was still on a wheelchair the last time, as she often had to, when her legs could not bear the strain of movement. She must have looked quite pitiful, then, to be remembered like that. Now, however, she was told that she looked much cuter when she smiled. Just a pleasantry, most likely, but one that did Homura well, as she hadn't even realized that she was smiling when she stepped inside.

Homura and Kyouko sat together on an isolated corner, far from the few people in the restaurant, that mostly cluttered around a television that showed a match of soccer. Homura smelled a pleasant scent that made her feel quite hungry, but still she ordered modestly, only some fish, salad and rice, as well as a glass of strawberry juice that was a soft, gentle pink. Kyouko, on the other hand, would have probably ordered the entire menu if not for Homura's sharp reminder that they couldn't linger there for _too_ long.

To eat together in silence was no great thing, though something about it struck Homura as important. This tranquility was what she wanted for her future: it was thinking of this time and time again, with Kyouko, that showed to Homura that there was something beyond the labyrinth's walls. Most of all, though, it simply made her happy, and that was a feeling she had forgotten for so long that she refused to let go again, now that it returned to her grasp.

Kyouko did not share Homura's calm. She tried not to show it, but from the way she impulsively devoured her meal it was obvious that she was troubled. Homura wished she could know what it was, but despite not understanding she still offered Kyouko her hand, and was glad to see that she took it, her fingers warm. Kyouko breathed in, then out, slowly, her eyes closed. _She's trying her hardest, too_. Homura wished she could help more, but, unfortunately, she didn't know what comfort she could give. That helplessness made her wince, and the rest of her meal lost its taste. She hurried to finish it.

Outside, the sun shone with a brightness so straining that it seemed almost malicious, but the clear skies meant that Walpurgisnacht would not emerge that day, at least. Homura shielded her eyes with her palm, and Kyouko imitated the gesture, but her hands were occupied with a dozen plastic bags, and offered little relief. They could not hide the distress in her face, either.

Despite the harsh sun, the winds blew cold, and Kyouko shivered, clutching at her bare legs. Homura had been the one to choose Kyouko's dress, arguing that if she chose on her own, she'd pick something absurd once again. They were the same size, more or less, so all fit Kyouko well, and Homura picked what she thought was prettiest - though she regretted the lack of color in her wardrobe. Kyouko's face was pink all the while they dressed together, but she beamed. It had been years since she last had a chance to prim herself like that, and though she'd not admit it, she had to miss it, if only a little.

Their fun was over, for the time, as now it was to Mitakihara's harbor that they were headed. It was a long way to it, but Homura knew the path well. As she started seeing the familiar streets that led to the river, the buildings all around seemed to loom over her, the paths narrowed, claustrophobic, and she felt sick to her stomach, her unease growing as she and Kyouko drew closer to the docks, where Walpurgisnacht would emerge. There were few places that Homura hated most, and her aversion was such that even being anywhere near the river made her wish to throw up, and gave her skin a sickly pallor.

This place was where her hopes were trampled again and again. Here was where she witnessed horror: here she saw Madoka, Kyouko and Mami die horrible deaths, more often than she could count. Here was where she heard them cry and scream and beg and wail as they were devoured and burned and crushed and ripped to shreds and fell into such despair that they too became witches. Here Homura helplessly watched as Walpurgisnacht brought an utter end to Mitakihara, leaving no trace of the city when she was done. Here was where Homura always failed. Here was where she witnessed the walls of her labyrinth grow taller brick by brick.

_This will be the last time._ When her eyes met Kyouko's gaze, she actually managed to convince herself of that. She told herself to breathe, to not let herself succumb to panic and dread.

The docks were rarely ever busy: Mitakihara was hardly a great center of commerce, given that its neighbors were much larger cities, and, worst of all, the river that connected the city to the sea was narrow, unfit for great vessels. The place was a relic of a Mitakihara that was now only part of the past. It existed because getting rid of it would be too costly, but had been left to disrepair and desolation. It was almost fortunate, then, that this was where Walpurgisnacht would emerge. No one would miss these docks, if they were destroyed; with time, the people of Mitakihara might even be thankful that such an ugly and obsolete place was gone, and could be replaced with something of value.

Homura and Kyouko stared at the waters. They were still, polluted, thick. Here and there they could see garbage floating on the surface. With the rest of the city so modern and pristine, it was unsurprising that it had chosen to forget this place.

"I have set up explosives all along the riverbed," Homura pointed once she and Kyouko were leaning on the railings that separated them from the waters. "With enough force we can sink Walpurgisnacht, then blow her to bits. In theory."

"But in practice…?"

"If I could just blow Walpurgisnacht to bits I would have done so already. My efforts have hindered her and made her vulnerable, but on my own I cannot muster the magical power to exploit those moments of weakness."

"You're not on your own, though. There's a chance, then, right?"

"Yes," Homura said, and reached into her purse to get the black case where she stored her Grief Seeds. "You'll recall that I told you we have nineteen of these. Two we'll use before Walpurgisnacht emerges, so that we can fight at our fullest. We'll have seventeen left, then, and of those you'll carry seven. I'll keep the remaining ten, as I'll need to use a great amount of magic just to ensure that Walpurgisnacht can be impaired enough for us to finish her off. Of course, you can have one of mine if the need arises."

"It won't arise," Kyouko promised. "I'll be careful."

"Good," Homura trusted that Kyouko would do just that. In the past she had been good at conserving her magic. "Also, and this is very important: we'll be on death's door when we vanquish Walpurgisnacht. We'll need to use so much power that our Soul Gems are sure to be almost entirely tainted. It is extremely important, then, that we manage to locate the Grief Seeds that Walpurgisnacht will release when she's destroyed. We'll be weak when that happens, and if the Grief Seeds fall underwater, it'll be much harder to find them. So we need to try our hardest to make sure that when we defeat her, she's not far from shore."

"I get that," Kyouko said, with hesitation. "But… One thing," she was suddenly fidgety, and put her bags on the ground.

"Yes?"

"You said that Walpurgisnacht will unleash Grief _Seeds_. Plural. How come?"

Homura had expected that Kyouko would not fail to notice that. She wished she knew the complete answer, but she didn't have one, only speculation.

"The thing about Walpurgisnacht is that she's a greater mystery than all the other witches. I have tried to understand her, in the past. In a past recursion of time, instead of preparing to fight her, I travelled overseas to meet with magical girls from other countries. To learn," Homura still recalled the guilt she felt during her journeys, for abandoning Mitakihara and her friends, but she figured that without knowledge, she would never be able to win anyways.

"Whoa… I hadn't expected you to have done that."

"When I figured I had all the time in the world, I thought it was worth trying a new approach. I have learned much, though a great deal of lore is contradictory. The magical girls of China have reached a conclusion about Walpurgisnacht, but it is entirely different from what the Russian ones believe. The one thing that's beyond doubt is that she's the only witch that can manifest outside of a barrier."

"Even I know that," Kyouko was disappointed.

"Yes, my journey of enlightenment was not the most productive one." Sarcasm dripped from Homura's tongue. "But it was interesting, still… In most lands the magical girls think that Walpurgisnacht is not a single witch, but many. Multiple witches who became too powerful, whose barriers grew so enormous that they overlapped and fused. And when that happened enough times, the result was the queen of the witches, as some call her. Which answers your earlier question. If Walpurgisnacht is the result of the melding of many witches, it's unsurprising that she'd release many Grief Seeds."

"That does explain it, yeah," Kyouko said. "I don't know what to believe, you know. I've heard a lot of tales about Walpurgisnacht, but you say that there are such stories all around the world, and neither is quite right… Gah, this makes me so pissed off! I hate not knowing what I'm fighting."

Homura responded with a quick nod, and though she was about to continue to explain their plan for the battle and how they'd use the nearby terrain to their advantage, Kyouko grew silent almost too suddenly. She stared into the skies, and her eyes started to quiver. Kyouko reached into one of her bags and her hand came out of it carrying a chocolate bar that she scraped pieces of with her teeth. She had the same face she had earlier today, when they ate together. For good or ill, she always wore her feelings very plainly. Homura felt like she had to do something this time.

"Kyouko? Something's troubling you. Something has been troubling you for a while, I noticed it at the restaurant. Would you like to talk?"

"I… I would like to," she said, sighing a long breath. "It's Sayaka. I'm thinking of her."

"Ah."

"Hard to keep her out of my mind when we're talking about witches…" She tried to chuckle, to pretend the mood was not so dour, but her laughter came out forced, ugly, and her grim eyes made her thoughts clear. "Sayaka could have become part of Walpurgisnacht?"

"If given time," Homura said. "I would not doubt it. There are reports of Walpurgisnacht absorbing nearby barriers when she emerges, too."

Kyouko slammed her fist on the railing, leaving her hand bruised and bleeding. She grit her teeth, and struggled to say something, as if trying to find words.

"This is our fate, isn't it? This or death."

"It doesn't have to be."

"But it was for Sayaka. I can't get over it, you know? The thought that this," she pointed at the black case and the Grief Seeds within it, "is all that remains of us. All that remains of Sayaka. That she couldn't stop it. Madoka couldn't stop it. Neither of us could stop it. It feels like… Like…"

"Like failure," Homura knew the feeling well enough. "It feels unfair."

"Unfair is an understatement. If we hadn't so quickly destroyed the witch that she became, then all the good that Sayaka had ever brought would be undone. That's what it means to be a witch, isn't it?"

"I don't believe her good would be undone," Homura said. "Though that is hardly comfort, I suppose."

"I can't bear to look at those Grief Seeds," Kyouko said, and Homura promptly closed the case. "To think that each of those was…" She looked to the side instead of finishing her sentence. "To think that we're staying alive only because of them. That we need people like Sayaka, who meet her same end, if we want to stay as we are. I feel like we're doing something horrible. Even though I never had a problem with letting familiars consume regular humans so that they could become witches, too… Ugh. I feel like I finally understand what it was that my dad meant when he talked about sins that cannot be forgiven. What happened to Sayaka can't be forgiven. The fact that we _need_ it to happen is even worse."

Kyouko was nearly crying, then, but she seemed to force herself not to. "This is horrible. I can't think of anything as horrible as this. I've been trying not to think of it since this morning, but I can't. I can't."

"I'm sorry," was all that Homura could say. "I genuinely cannot offer you any comfort. I wish I could, but… There really is no way to make this hurt any less. If I may, however… There is one hypothesis in particular about Walpurgisnacht that I'm almost inclined to believe. Some magical girls, more traditionally religious, believe that she is divine retribution. That Walpurgisnacht is the reckoning for all that the magical girls have suffered. Punishment against a world that let them fall into despair and then devoured what remained of them when they were destroyed. Sometimes I believe that's true. Sometimes it feels true. Sometimes I _wish_ it were true, after all I've seen. Maybe that's right. Maybe that's justice. But… It's not the justice _she_ wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I feel like giving up," Homura admitted. "Even I am not strong enough to bear it all the time. But I think of Sayaka. Not of Madoka, nor you, or anyone else, for that matter. Sayaka. I've never been able to save her. I've never been able to love her, and she never loved me, either. And yet… And yet she's the one that comes to mind when I think I can't keep going. To give up would be to betray her, and I cannot bear that. And I feel like I shouldn't care so much, not when we weren't even such close friends, but I do care. If I give up, if I allow Walpurgisnacht and all witches to continue to destroy and corrupt everything that the magical girls they once were held dear, then I'm betraying them all, and betraying Sayaka most of all. And then she'd be right for hating me, all along."

"Homura…" Kyouko came closer to her, and a thought took hold of Homura at once, when she saw Kyouko just in front of her, her eyes meeting her own, her hands tentatively approaching hers. Homura could not resist.

"It's sad," Homura said. "All of this. It's the saddest thing I can think of. That we have to be the ones to live through this and not anyone else feels unfair. That we could not help Sayaka feels like a crime. But…" The words would not come out, for a moment, clustering at the tip of her tongue. Homura closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and when she looked at Kyouko again, she felt like she could speak. "But even if Sayaka is gone, we are still fighting for her. I've been fighting for her sake, too, all along. Though there was no love between us, I cannot forget her. Will not forget her. I won't forget all she taught me, either. O-One thing I learned from her," the hesitation came again. "To not smother your feelings for whatever reason. To pursue your true heart's desires, so that you won't regret not doing so. I don't mean to regret anything." She clenched her fist. "Though I don't know how to say it… I know I have to say it, now that I understand howSayaka suffered for not voicing her feelings when she had the chance."

Homura paused, staring straight into Kyouko's face, wondering if she already understood, presuming that she did. But her expression revealed nothing. She only looked at Homura, the wind blowing behind her, making a mess of her hair and her dress. Homura wished she did not have to say anything more. She did not know how to do so, she feared she would only sound like a fool. Most of all, she feared that all the progress she had made would simply disappear. All the while, Kyouko stood there, waiting.

"I don't want you to ever leave me. Please. I've come to realize how much I had missed you, and I don't think I can bear to forget again. To be alone again. Please," she stepped up to Kyouko, and tried her hardest not to weep, so that she could have some semblance of calmness. "Stay with me, Kyouko. Today and tomorrow, all tomorrows still to come, tomorrows that we'll find together. I love you, Kyouko. You. To be with you fills me with something I can't even name because I haven't felt it in so long. More than serenity, more than peace." She clutched at her heart. "So would you please… Stay with me? It doesn't have to be forever. I hate forever, though maybe I can come to love it with you. But for a while, at least…"

By the time she was finished, Homura thought she hardly made any sense, that she hadn't conveyed all she felt, but whereas she had hesitated, Kyouko did not: she practically threw herself on Homura, and put her arms around her back, squeezing, but her grip didn't hurt. It felt so right that Homura had to return it, fraily, awkwardly, but full of feeling. Homura meant to just stay like that, feeling each other's closeness, but Kyouko had bolder intentions - though ones that Homura found to be more than a bit agreeable. Her lips were all over Homura's face, and her eagerness and rush made it clear that Kyouko, too, had no experience with this. Something about that was comforting.

After that, Homura didn't know what to say. She guessed there was nothing to say, not now. Their final preparations were easy enough, only a matter of planning what moves they would make, and where. Homura figured they would need to improvise, as expecting predictability out of Walpurgisnacht was a costly mistake. But, until the next day, they were done. The rest of the afternoon and the night would be theirs to do with as they desired.

Tomorrow, Homura thought, was still unforeseeable, but, for now, Kyouko's warmth was the certainty of today. They set out, together, unsure of what to do or of where to go, but right now, that seemed just wonderful. Choosing was not something Homura had done in quite a while. Her heart was still heavy, fearful, but she needed only to look into those red eyes of Kyouko and her tiny smile, the strained grin of someone who needed a great deal of effort to be happy, and then she'd remember what it was that gave her strength.

_One more day. Only one more day, and I'll be free at last._


End file.
